


Step Into Christmas

by Leca



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:30:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leca/pseuds/Leca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost seems to nip at every body part when you're out in a forest alone on Christmas Eve. Features Jack Frost and an unnamed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step Into Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from my writing blog on tumblr. Enjoy!

 

_It’s hard to step into Christmas when you can’t move your toes._

The thought came to him as he looked down at his feet, wrapped in a blanket and sitting by the bonfire in front of him. It had taken him a while to find a clearing large enough for him to safely build a fire in such a dense forest, but it was worth it. He needed defrosting.  
  
If you had asked the man what he was doing out on such a cold Christmas Eve, he probably would’ve answered with some nonsense like, “I’m out here to ice fish” or “I’m here for firewood.” He felt a twinge of pain in his stomach as he thought about ice fishing. He had been ice fishing a few times when he was younger - when money wasn’t tight and he had things to come home to.   
  
Presents under a tree. A family. A home.   
  
The only thing under a tree on that Christmas Eve would be him.   
  
In discomfort, he brought his heavy winter coat tighter around him, his blanket unavailable for his upper body. He was hungry, and he only had a few things in his backpack for him to eat. Not to mention that he didn’t want to get up and risk losing body heat to rummage through it.   
  
All he could do was put his head into his coat like a turtle and shut his eyes. Tired from a day’s walking and scavenging, he slowly drifted off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Christmas Eve was not exactly Jack’s favorite night of the season, for Christmas Eve was Santa’s night.   
  
Sure; while all winter kids were writing their letters to Santa, asking for all sorts of trinkets and toys, Jack pretty much owned the dark, cold months. He could romp around and do anything he really wanted to. . .except on Christmas Eve.   
  
Because heaven forbid Santa get  _delayed_  due to Jack’s antics.  
  
Thinking of this, Jack rolled his eyes. From his view up in a random forest’s tree, he kept his eyes on the sky. He could only imagine Santa flying through the sky with his reindeer and sleigh, a bag rivaling Santa’s own size on the back of it.  
  
“Sure gonna land top spot on the naughty list for that one,” he mumbled with a smirk.   
  
Not like he didn’t have it already.   
  
These kinds of trees were Jack’s favorite; the kind where he could sit down and spread out his legs on one of the branches. He supported the back of his head with both of his hands and admired the stars and moon. He’d occasionally try to guess where Santa was, and could’ve sworn that he saw a few flickers of movement among the stars.   
  
About an hour passed (“too long,” to Jack) until he felt his eyes fluttering. Lack of movement and action made him sleepy, tonight being no exception. With some off-hand comment about how Santa should at least give him some coffee for Christmas, he drifted off to sleep.  
  
But Jack was a light sleeper. So when smoke drifted past his nostrils, Jack just barely stopped himself from falling out of the tree trying to jump to his feet.   
  
While Jack was no Smokey the Bear, he knew that smoke either meant a wildfire or human life. And what kind of wildfire started in the winter?   
  
He was down from the tree in less time than it took for him to wake up. Jack used his staff as a walking stick as he headed in the direction of the smoke.   
  
  
Jack couldn’t say that he was necessarily surprised to come across a man sitting next to the fire. What was he expecting in the first place? It’s not like hibernating bears lit fires to keep warm.   
  
He sat down on the snow-covered ground next to the man. “Must be sleeping,” he murmured. Jack knew that for sure when, like he expected, got no response.   
  
He looked around the small encampment, observing the man’s belongings, of which he had very little. A backpack here, a blanket there. That was pretty much it. Looking back at the man before doing so, he carefully opened up the backpack and peered inside. Nothing but a box of matches, some other basic survival stuff, and a bag of some food. Putting the pack down exactly where he found it and closing it up, he glanced back at the sleeping man.  
  
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “You there?”   
  
He rolled his eyes. Brilliant choice of words.  _Santa’s gonna laugh at me for that one._  
  
Jack crawled back over to the man and shook him gently. “Hey. Wake up. What are you doing out here?”  
  
  
  
The first thing the man noticed when opened his eyes and stuck his head out of his coat was how the young man in front of him was dressed. He had a blue hoodie and what looked like simple sweat pants on. No heavy coat, no hat, no gloves. Instead, what he guessed was a walking stick sat by his side.   
  
 _Jesus, he must be cold,_  the man thought, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. Nope. The young man was still sitting in front of him, with a neutral yet slightly concerned look on his face.   
  
The man sat up, putting his gloved hands on the ground and pulling back a little. “Huh? Me?” Brilliant choice of words.  _My wife would be laughing at me for that one._  “I’m ice fi- er, well, hunting. Kind of. I mean...”   
  
The blue-dressed man didn’t look too convinced. “I’m just...out here.” Suddenly, the man looked shocked. “Am I trespassing? Is this your property? Wait a minute. Isn’t this a public park? Wait, no, I’d still be trespassing. Fuck!”  
  
“Uh...” Jack took a moment to process what he had said, then smirked. “Then I guess I’m trespassing too. This isn’t  _my_  place, that’s for sure!” A laugh came from him, which prompted a nervous laugh from the older man as well.   
  
“That’s good to know!” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what is your name, fellow trespasser?” All nervousness seemed to have melted away.   
  
“You can call me Jack,” said he, tilting his head in acknowledgement.   
  
“Jack. I think you’re the first Jack I’ve ever met. Isn’t that funny? 24 years on this planet, and I’ve never met a Jack. What about you? How old are you?” He raised an eyebrow. “You look a bit too young to be out here all by yourself.”  
  
Jack thought for a moment about how to answer this question. He really didn’t know himself; it wasn’t a question he was typically asked. “I’m old enough,” he shrugged. “I live by myself, and that’s what counts.” Jack paused, looking back at the older man. “So why are you  _really_  out here?”   
  
The man’s smile faded, and Jack instantly understood. “Bad luck, to put it lightly,” he answered, a despairing tone in his voice.   
  
Jack nodded. “I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to give you. I guess that’s Santa’s job.”  
“Is it Christmas Eve already?” His smile returned. “Wow, how days fly by!” The man shuffled over to his bag and opened it up. “Not too long ago, I found these.” He pulled out the bag that Jack had only briefly looked at. It was filled with chestnuts. “I’ve been saving them for tonight, as a little Christmas gift to myself.” The man’s eyes sparkled at his last few words. “But there’s enough to go around. Would you like to share them with me?”  
  
Jack was surprised at how generous this man was. How interesting, that someone with next to nothing would so willingly share with a complete stranger.  _He doesn’t **look**  like Santa,_ he thought to himself as he nodded, accepting his offer.   
  
The man grinned, taking out a few chestnuts. He then took the blanket off of his feet so he could get up, running over to a few spare sticks lying on the ground. Picking two up, he handed one to Jack, who took it and a chestnut from his hands. The man was humming a familiar-sounding tune as he put his own chestnut on his stick and held it over the fire, letting it roast.   
  
“When I was younger, we’d always do this. We’d make a big fire in our fireplace and roast chestnuts over it. Have you tried it before?” Jack shook his head. “Here. Let me show you.”   
  
The next 10 minutes were spent showing Jack how to roast a chestnut. It paid off though, as the chestnuts came out perfectly.   
  
As they both indulged in their snacks, the man talked about his life. His wife especially; how they would spend every Christmas in a cabin up north, and skate on the pond until the sun came down. How they would sing Christmas carols to each other while baking cookies.   
  
And how, in the early mornings, before snow covered the land, the frost would make the grass look like “someone had painted it with stardust.”   
  
“She’d say that every time. We’d wake up and there’d be frost over everything, and she’d say that every time. Especially car doors.” He laughed heartily.  
  
 _Sorry about that,_  Jack thought.  
  
After his stories died down and they finished off the chestnuts, the man decided to ask Jack his own question. “So what did you ask Santa for this Christmas?”  
  
Jack snickered. “I think I’m a bit too old for that,” he joked. “And besides, he’d probably put coal in my stocking.”  _It’d happened before._    
  
“Oh, please. I’m sure you’re an angel.” Jack shot him a funny look, which the man countered with a wink. “If I could ask Santa for anything...well, I wouldn’t know where to start.”   
  
“What do you want most?” Jack inquired.   
  
The man chuckled. “A house. With heat. And a bed. A bed would be nice. Hell, forget the house. Just give me a bed! But with a to-do list as long as Santa’s, even with all of his little elves I doubt that he would get to me.”   
  
“You can never be too sure.” Jack put his knees up to his chest and flashed him his signature smile. “Did you send him a letter?”   
  
“Of course not!” the man laughed.  
  
“Doesn’t hurt to try.” Jack shrugged. A few moments of silence passed before he thought back to earlier that night. “What was that song that you were humming before? When you were pulling out the chestnuts?”  
  
“Oh, you don’t know that one?” The man seemed surprised. “The Christmas Song. That’s what it’s called. You probably know the first line. ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Ja-”  
  
“Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”   
  
“Yeah, that one!”   
  
At this point, they had returned to their original positions, with the man snuggled up inside his coat and his feet wrapped in his blanket. Jack was sitting with his hands behind him. There were a few good minutes of silence, making it clear that the night was dying down.   
  
The man cleared his throat and took a deep breath before questioning, “Could you do me a favor?”  
  
Jack smiled. “Yeah?”  
  
“Well, I know it’s late, and you should be on your way soon. But...” The man yawned. “Do you think we could sing that song real quick, before you take off?”  
  
“The Christmas Song?”  
  
A nod.  
  
Jack gazed up at the sky again as he began to sing softly. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...”  
  
Jack heard a chuckle from inside the coat.  
  
“Jack Frost nipping at your nose...” he continued.  
  
The man joined in.   
  
They kept going together until the final verse, where the man yawned and Jack stood up.   
  
“And so I’m offering this simple phrase, to kids from one to 92,” Jack’s voice rang.  
  
“Although it’s been said,” - one more yawn and a sleepy slur from the man - “many times, many ways...”  
  
Jack smiled down at him. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Merry Christmas,” the man said in response.  
  
“To...you.”  
  
And with that, the man fell asleep and Jack vanished, leaving a patch of frost on the ground underneath him where he stood.  
  
\----  
  
A letter entered Santa’s mailbox on November 21.   
  
A bit early by Santa’s standards, but he opened it and read it all the same.  
  
 _Dear Santa,_  
  
 _A good friend of mine suggested that I write to you, even though I’m not a kid anymore. I feel kind of stupid for asking for this, but..._  
  
Rumor has it that the elves worked overtime that year.

  
Fin.

\----


End file.
